Page 29

RIOT

After we settled into the brownstone, I hopped in the shower while Allure got acquainted with the new spot. The water hit my skin hard, almost scalding, but I didn’t flinch. I needed the sting. Something to ground me while my thoughts spun like blades behind my eyes.

There was so much I needed to figure out. So much weighing on me.

Boaz still needed to be handled. That snake wasn’t gonna stay in his cage forever.

Once he made bail—and he would—I’d be the only thing standing between him and Allure.

And I was more than willing to take that shot.

But after that... I didn’t want to keep living like this.

The kill-or-be-killed rhythm of our life had worn me thin.

I wanted out. Not just from Boaz, but from this whole damn cycle.

I leaned my head against the tile, water cascading down my back, and let that thought settle in my chest.

I was ready to move different.

I was ready to put the killing behind me, for good.

The empire my father built was born in blood.

Drenched in it. Men like him didn’t build legacies.

They built graves with gold trim. But Creed and I?

We had a chance to change the ending. To evolve.

We already started with King’s Vine, turned something dark into something beautiful.

That’s where I wanted to stay. In the soil.

In the bottles. In the slow, clean growth of real work. Real ownership.

Not revenge. Not bullets.

But that shift wasn’t just about Boaz. Or Creed. Or even Pops.

It was about her.

Allure.

There was something about her that made me want to be better.

She wasn’t just beautiful—she was untouched by the bullshit I’d known all my life.

Even after ten years in hell, she still had grace.

Still had light. She hadn’t been broken.

Not really. And if she could survive that and still walk like she had a crown on her head, then I had no excuse.

Her presence reminded me there was more to life than surviving.

There was building.

Loving.

Living.

But if I was gonna give myself to her—for real—I needed to be whole. Not just a thug with blood on his hands. I wanted to give her something real. A man with purpose. A man who chose softness without being weak. A man who could love her without dragging her back into darkness.

And I was working on it.

Every day, I felt myself getting clearer.

Sharper. Slower to react, quicker to reflect.

Creed was part of that. His mission to wipe out Pops’ old pedophile network gave me clarity.

Gave me fire. I never thought I’d be the kind of man to save lives, hell, for most of mine, I was the nightmare people needed saving from, but watching him take that weight and turn it into something meaningful… it gave me permission to grow too.

And I was growing.

For me. For the business. For the future we were building.

But mostly?

For her.

Allure deserved the best of me. Not the weapon. Not the savage. Not the broken boy who got thrown into cages with wild animals for sport.

She deserved the man I was becoming.

And I’d be damned if I let anything, or anyone, pull me back to who I used to be.

After my shower, I threw on some black sweats and a plain tee, grabbed a bottle of white wine from the cabinet, and headed to the living room.

Allure was curled up on the couch, legs tucked under her, thumbing through one of the sketchbooks we’d picked up earlier.

The soft lamp light washed over her skin, making her look even more golden than usual—like a painting come to life.

She looked up when I entered, and that small, slow smile she gave me did something to my chest I wasn’t prepared for. Made it feel tight in the best kind of way.

“Wine?” I asked, holding up the bottle.

“Yes, please.” She sat up straighter, tugging the hem of her oversized tee down over her thighs. It was one of mine. Seeing her in it made my brain short-circuit for a second.

I poured us two glasses and passed her one before sinking into the cushion beside her. The wine was deep and full-bodied, one of the newer vintages from King’s Vine, smooth with just enough bite to keep you present.

She took a slow sip and sighed. “This is really good.”

“I know a guy,” I smirked.

We sat in comfortable silence for a beat, the city moving beyond the windows but muffled by the insulation of this new chapter.

She set her glass on the coffee table and curled toward me, propping her elbow on the back of the couch. “I’ve been thinking a lot about how I want to start,” she said. “With designing, I mean.”

“Yeah?” I turned slightly to face her. “Talk to me.”

“I want to create a line that’s both powerful and feminine.

That uses lots of color, structure and sexy silhouettes.

I think I want to use a lot of leather and I want it colored leather.

Leather in my opinion is one of the most powerful fabrics there is.

But I want to pair it with colorful silks too.

I want to show the dichotomy of power and sexy.

This line will before women who want to express their full womanhood.

For women who have been suppressed and are ready to live body. ”

I nodded slowly, letting her speak without interruption. I loved hearing her talk about her goals and dreams. Her passion and intelligence was inspiring to me.

“I stopped believing in the dream after a while. After all those years of wearing white… I stopped seeing color, you know?” Her voice cracked just a little, and she cleared her throat. “But lately, I’ve been feeling it again. Like I’m waking up. ”

I set my glass down and reached for her hand, threading my fingers through hers. Who the fuck was I becoming?

“You haven’t lost the dream,” I said. “It’s just been paused. And now? You got space to dream big again.”

She looked up at me, hopeful. “Do you think I could really… make it?”

“Hell yeah. You was sounding’ all confident a second ago. Don’t lose that shit. You can definitely make it. And I have a few connects. I got a few folks that owe me favors. Whenever you’re ready we’ll make it happen.”

Her eyes shimmered. “That would mean everything.”

I leaned in and kissed her knuckles. “Then it’s done.”

We sat like that a while, sipping wine and talking plans. She told me all about fabric, color stories, and themes. She was excited, nervous, but electric with possibility. I could see her vision already forming, and I wanted to be the one who helped make it real.

Then she shifted a bit, setting her glass down with a more serious look. “Can I tell you something without you getting mad?”

I raised an eyebrow. “That depends.”

“It’s about the animals,” she said gently. “The ones at the compound.”

I stilled. “Okay.”

“They’re beautiful,” she started, “and I get that you care for them. But watching them... locked up like that—it reminded me too much of what I went through. That kind of captivity… it changes you. Even if they look calm, they’re not free.”

Her voice was soft but full of conviction, and I felt every word.

I exhaled slowly, dragging a hand over my jaw. “Damn.”

“I’m not judging,” she added quickly. “I just thought… maybe you’d understand.”

I stared at her for a long moment, then nodded. “I do. I get it.”

She blinked. “Really?”

“I’ve been holdin’ on to some of them animals for the wrong reasons. Trying to prove I wasn’t afraid. That I could control danger. But maybe it’s time to let that go too.”

She smiled, relieved, and something unknotted inside me. I didn’t need those cages to feel strong anymore. Not when I had this woman looking at me like I was already something more than muscle and rage.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

I squeezed her hand. “Nah. Thank you for makin’ me think.”

We didn’t speak much after that. Just curled into each other, the weight of everything starting to shift. I felt it in my bones—something was changing. In her. In me. In us.

And for once, I didn’t want to run from it.

I wanted to see where it led.

The rest of the night passed easy between us.

After our talk, we finished the bottle of wine and watched a some girly ass movie about fashion.

The Devil Wear’s Prada. She said it was one her faves before she was kidnapped.

The shit was way to feminine for me. Normally, I would’ve tapped out halfway through.

But with her tucked against my side, her head on my chest, I stayed with it.

Eventually, she dozed off there, right on me.

I carried her to bed.

Didn’t try nothin’. Didn’t even entertain the thought. I just pulled the covers up over her, brushed her hair off her cheek, and slid in beside her.

I watched the ceiling for a while after that. My mind running in all directions, business, the Boaz case, my mother. But mostly, it was her. Allure. How the hell she managed to make this place feel like peace when everything else in my life was chaos.

And just when I started to drift… it happened again.

The dream.

Same one, same damn script.

I saw myself sliding the knife across Malia’s throat, her eyes wide with disbelief as blood gathered at her skin like a slow bloom.

She just stared at me, like she couldn’t believe I was the one holding the blade.

My hand wouldn’t stop, like I’d lost control of my own body, like the violence was moving through me instead of from me.

In the background, my father laughed. That deep, guttural sound echoing through the dark. He clapped, proud and unbothered, his voice slicing through the air.

“That’s my boy,” he said, over and over, louder each time, until it was no longer his voice I heard.

It was mine. “Fuck!”

I jolted upright, chest heaving, drenched in sweat.

My fists were clenched, my jaw locked so tight it hurt.

Allure stirred beside me. “Riot?” she whispered, voice thick with sleep. She reached for me, her fingers brushing my shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m fine,” I muttered, swinging my legs over the side of the bed.

But I wasn’t. I wasn’t even close.

The sweat was cold on my back. My heart still jackhammering. I could feel the rage trying to claw its way up my throat like bile. That dream always left me fucked up. Shaky. Off-balance.

She moved behind me, her arms circling my waist as she rested her cheek against my back. No questions. No pressure. Just warmth. Contact. Breath.

And something in me… cracked.

I wanted to pull away. I hated feeling weak. Hated being witnessed like this. I wasn’t used to being held. I was the one who held other people up, not the other way around.

But I didn’t move.

Because despite everything in me screaming to shut it down, I felt safe. With her. I felt like I could breathe again.

I let my hand drop over hers. Held it there.

No words passed between us. But her presence said enough.

I was more afraid now than I’d ever been.

Because this girl? She was seeing the real me

And I was starting to let her.